Kismet
by lettres d'amour
Summary: "When Sam first met Jess, it was at a frat party..." Sam and Jess had many more meetings after that. But by the third one, Sam had already decided that it was fate. 5.20 "The Devil You Know" Spoilers. Sam/Jess Fluff. Sam/Brady Friendship. 1st Spn fic!


**Kismet**

When Sam first met Jess, it was at a frat party. Sam usually never attended these venues, but he was unwillingly dragged here by Brady. He protested vehemently, but to no avail. Brady was adamant in bringing his buddy along. "All work and no play make Sammy a very dull boy," argued the former pre-med student.

By the time they arrived at the party, it was already in full swing. Languid bodies in various stages of consciousness were scattered everywhere. Raucous cheers signaled that a lively game of beer pong was in session. What the hell was that thing hanging from the ceiling fan? Sam grimaced as a girl vomited rather violently into a potted fern next to him. His discomfort in such a chaotic environment did not escape Brady.

"Loosen up, man! Get that stick out of your ass," he said, shoving a red plastic cup filled to the brim with beer at him. Sam reluctantly accepted his fate and retreated to a corner he deemed safe, watching the other revelers taking advantage of their impaired state of judgments by doing stupid things that they were sure to regret the morning after. It was at this same spot Brady found him two hours later.

"Shaam! Derr ya are," slurred Brady. He was stumbling towards him with his arm slung around the shoulders of a pretty blonde. "What'r ya doin' mopin' aroun' in a corner?" He took a swig of his drink. "Join da party!" He accented the last syllable with a grandiose gesture. Unfortunately, he still had a relatively full cup in one hand and showered both Sam and the blonde with the golden brew of Budweiser.

Sam swept his beer-soaked hair out of his eyes and glared. The girl with Brady didn't seem too happy either.

"Oops," said Brady with a stupid grin.

The blonde sighed and laid a gentle hand on the inebriated man's arm, "C'mon Brady, let's get you home."

Brady didn't seem to heed her words. He stared morosely at his now empty cup, half mourning the waste of perfectly good beer and half wondering where the hell the rest of it went. He wasn't a very smart drunk.

"Alrighty den," he slurred. He tossed the cup over his shoulder and wrapped his arms around both the blonde and Sam and pulled them close. "'Scuse me, where'r my manners? Sam, meet Jess. She's mah best fren'. Jessh, this is Sam. 'E's got a shtick up his ass."

Jess and Sam nodded cordially at each other. Introductions aside, there was a larger task at hand: getting Brady home.

Easier said than done. First, he narrowly avoided a tree, and then he collided with a parking meter. After Brady walked into a light pole, he was deemed unfit to walk on his own. Thus he was tucked between Sam and Jess, with a bump the size of an egg on his forehead and an indignant pout.

* * *

Brady came home drunk, again. It was the third time this week and Sam had lost track of how many times this month. He half tripped and half stumbled into the dorm room sometime after 1AM and would have fell flat on his face if Sam had not caught him.

He was sleeping soundly when he was suddenly awakened by a rather loud and boisterous rendition of "Bohemian Rhapsody" from the hallway outside. No doubt who was singing. Sam would have been impressed with all the high notes Brady hit if he wasn't so worried about his friend. Lately, Brady had been going off the rails, so to speak. Lord knows he had been trying to keep his friend on the straight and narrow but nothing he did seemed to work.

When Brady woke up around noon, he found Sam staring at him with a furrowed brow and worried eyes. He felt the bile rising from his throat and he grabbed the nearest trash bin just in time.

Sam opened his mouth to speak. Brady knew what was coming; he had heard the same lecture many times before. "Not now, Sam," he interjected.

"But Brady—,"

"No."

Sam sighed heavily and ran his hands through his brown hair. "Dude, whatever. It's your life. If you wanna fuck it up, it's your problem. I'm done." Sam stood up and headed towards the door. "I'm going for a walk."

"Wait." Sam paused at the sound of Brady's voice. "If you're heading out, could you drop off some books for me? They're two months overdue already...and I'm not really up to it at the moment. C'mon man, please?" Brady ended his plea with a look of utter despair that rivaled Sam's own puppy-dog eyes.

"Fine," Sam finally relented.

"Thanks man, they're on my desk. I owe you one."

"Whatever. I have to do some research for a paper anyways."

"The one for Finnegan? That shriveled up, pretentious, piece of—,"

Sam didn't stay to hear the rest of it. His diatribes usually followed the same format. First, a few choice words, followed by a few insults directed towards the subject's mother, then allegations of impotence (in both senses of the word) and finally a coup de grace in the form of a violent death threat. In Professor Finnegan's case, it was usually a graphic description of where and in what manner he should take his paper and shove it.

Sam didn't understand Brady's dislike of the genial professor. Sure, his curriculum had one of the heaviest workloads on the campus, but that is hardly any reason for such hatred. Brady seemed to admire the man before and took the assignments with relative ease. A lot of things didn't make sense about Brady lately. This was just one of those things.

The walk across the campus towards the library was thankfully uneventful. He reached the double doors of the sanctuary in less than ten minutes. He crossed the threshold with Brady's books tucked under his arm and made a beeline towards the returns' receptacle, then he headed to the reference section of the library.

As he made his way to the shelves of literary criticisms, he noticed a blonde head of hair sitting alone at a table. Shapely eyebrows were knitted together in concentration as her blonde hair formed a curtain around the book she was currently perusing. She was nibbling her bottom lip, a habit she had when she was thinking really hard, as Sam later learned. She had a blue ballpoint pen poised against a notepad, ready to take notes. The sunlight streaming in from a nearby window hit her in just the right way that made it look like she had a halo. The effect was stunning.

Jess sensed that she was being watched, so she looked up and saw Sam. Recognizing him as Brady's friend whom she met at the party a couple weeks ago, she smiled and greeted him, "Hello Sam."

"Hi." Sam winced at the way his voice cracked at the one syllable.

They talked for hours. At first the conversation was awkward, but after Sam brought up Brady, he learned that Jess shared his concern for their friend. Sam also learned that her full name was Jessica Lee Moore, she grew up in Chicago, and her birthday is January 24th.

"Really, January 24th? That's my brother's birthday."

"Wow, what a coincidence. Is he older or younger?"

"He's four years older than me."

"What does he do?"

Sam hesitated. "He travels a lot. With my dad. Family business," he said haltingly. Thankfully Jess sensed his unease and avoided questioning him about it again, although she was curious about what their family business entailed.

Sam also noticed a few things that endeared her to him early on, such as the way she arches her right eyebrow when in disbelief, as if to say, "Oh really?" And the way she slightly tilts her head to the left when listening intently to someone. Perhaps his most cherished character trait of Jess was her penchant for self-deprecating humor.

"Yep, I'm studying what I love and one day I'll end up living in a cardboard box outside of McDonald's for it," she said, poking fun at her Classics major.

It was just before sunset when Jess announced that she had to go. Sam, being the gentleman that he is, offered to walk her back to her dorm.

"Thanks for the offer, but I'll be fine," laughed Jess. Chivalry was in short supply these days.

"Are you sure?"

Jess place a hand on the man's shoulder and leaned in slightly as if she was about to confide a secret, "Trust me, I'm a lot tougher than I look. I can take care of myself." With a last smile, Jess turned on her heel and walked away.

Sam watched her round the corner before heading back to his own dormitory. He was just steps away before he realized that he had forgotten all about Finnegan's paper.

* * *

Maybe he was paranoid. Just a little bit. What are the chances of two people, who didn't even know each other until two weeks ago, running into each other in a Laundromat?

_How often do people run into each other in a library,_ his inner voice said.

"This is a university. Universities have students. Students use libraries," he countered.

_Stanford University has multiple libraries, not to mention the public libraries of Palo Alto which are—_

"Shut up."

Brady managed to wheedle out of his laundry duties, forcing Sam to take on both his and his roommate's loads. Now, Sam found himself dragging a blue laundry bag, stuffed to the point that its seams were about to rupture while clutching a basket overflowing with even more dirty clothes. Well, at least Brady seemed to be getting back on track. He preferred a laundry-neglecting friend, rather than an asking-for-an-intervention friend. That much he had to be thankful for.

Sam was more surprised at not being surprised than at seeing Jess. She seemed to be everywhere these days, both physically and in his thoughts as well as in his dreams.

After saying their hellos, they spent the entire wash cycle in companionable silence.

"Did you notice that we seem to keep running into each other nowadays?" Jess suddenly spoke.

Sam turned his attention from the red sock twirling around in the machine to the girl beside him, "Yea."

"Isn't it weird? I mean, we didn't even know each other. And I've never even seen you around before until that night."

"I wouldn't think much of it. We only ran into each other twice so far," he replied tersely. He immediately wished that he could recant his statement.

Jess didn't say anything after that. She sat with her lips pursed and avoided looking at him for the rest of the time, instead her gaze was fixed on a spot on the linoleum floor. After the dry cycle was done, Jess sprang up to her feet. She snatched all her clothes from the dryer and shoved them into her laundry basket.

_Jeez, Sam. Could you be anymore daft?_ He mentally kicked himself. He ran his hands through his hair and looked on guiltily. As she attempted a hasty escape, Sam blocked her exit.

"I—uh—We keep running into each other," he began.

Jess smiled sardonically. _Tell me what I don't know_, she seemed to say.

"I'd like to see more of you."

He looked at her hopefully. Jess decided that he looks adorable when he's nervous, so she couldn't possibly stay mad at him.

"Don't worry, you will," she gave him a small smile. "It's kismet."

As she walked away, he couldn't help but agree more.

* * *

**A/N:** It's been a while since I wrote a fic and I have never written anything in this fandom. Hopefully, the characters aren't not too out of character. Constructive criticism is much appreciated and highly encouraged! Honestly, I'm not expecting anyone to read this so even if you drop a review to tell me how much this sucked, I would be happy as a clam. And also, this is unbeta'd so if you catch any grammatical errors, feel free to point them out.


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